The vulnerability in his voice is genuine, but so is the underlying steel that suggests he won’t be pushed indefinitely.
“I came to ask you both to dinner,” he continues, his tone becoming more controlled. “At the compound. Tonight. Seven o’clock.”
Bianca tilts her head to the side, considering the invitation, and I can see the wheels in her head turning.
“Fine,” she finally says. “We’ll come. But don’t expect me to pretend everything is normal.”
“I don’t expect anything,” Matteo replies, and there’s exhaustion in his voice. “I just hope we can find a way forward that doesn’t destroy our family.”
He moves toward the door then pauses, looking back at her with something that might be regret.
“Whatever you’re planning to prove tonight, whatever point you think you need to make—just remember that some bridges, once burned, can never be rebuilt.”
The warning is gentle but unmistakable. Then he’s gone, leaving us alone with the weight of what’s coming.
I’ve never been to a more uncomfortable dinner in my life.
We arrive at the compound with Bianca looking stunning in a black silk dress that emphasizes her elegance while somehow making her appear untouchable.
Her hair is pulled back in a sleek chignon, her makeup flawless, every detail made to project power and distance.
She looks like she’s attending a business meeting rather than a family dinner.
I can already feel the tension radiating from her as we walk into the dining room, and my stomach clenches with dread.
The dining room has been set with the good China, fresh flowers, all the touches that suggest Bella hoped this might be a reconciliation.
The twins are in their high chairs, babbling happily, Giovanni banging a spoon against his tray while Arianna tries to feed herself with mixed success.
“Bianca,” Bella says warmly as we enter, moving to embrace her. “I’m so glad you came.”
Bianca accepts the hug with polite stiffness, the kind of distant courtesy she might show a business acquaintance. “Bella. Thank you for having us.”
The formality in her tone makes Bella step back, confusion flickering across her face.
My stomach flip flops. Bella’s done nothing wrong.
She’s been nothing but loving to Bianca for years, but she’s about to become collateral damage in this war between father and daughter.
“How are your online classes?” Matteo asks as we settle around the table, his voice carefully neutral, as the first course is served.
“Fine,” Bianca replies as she cuts her food into small pieces. “Columbia’s academic standards remain challenging but manageable.”
Christ.
She’s talking to him like he’s a stranger asking about the weather.
I’ve heard her gush about her professors to me and seen her excitement about her coursework.
I’ve listened to her complain about difficult assignments and nosey professors.
But for Matteo, she offers nothing but clinical reporting.
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, watching Matteo’s jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.
He’s trying so hard, and she’s systematically dismantling every attempt.
“Are you still enjoying your Strategic Management course?”
